


An Enchanting Presence

by hypovauntie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Louis is literally magical, M/M, it's just lots of fluff basically, really not sure how else to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypovauntie/pseuds/hypovauntie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a magical boy who flits in and out of Harry's life over the course of many years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Enchanting Presence

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the poem _Myriad Faces of Your Love_ by K Balachandran.
> 
> Un-beta'd so any and all mistakes are my own.

Harry is only six the first time he meets Louis.

It's a quiet afternoon, middle of the week, and Harry's just gotten home from school. His mum fusses at him about _something_ as soon as he's through the door and it's stupid and Harry wants to sulk so he exiles himself to the back yard. It's just a little patch of fenced-in land, bordered on two sides by neighboring houses and at the back by what Harry has always called the “forest”, even though it's less a forest and more just several sad-looking trees clumped together. Harry has strict instructions not to ever go outside the fence but for whatever reason he's feeling rebellious so he scales it, half with the hope that his mum will never find out and half with the hope that she will, and will regret yelling at him.

He doesn't really expect to find anything in the forest anyway but it still feels like an adventure of sorts. Like he's an explorer, charting new territory. So he creeps into the trees, trying to be as quiet as possible in case there are any critters about, fingering the edge of his jumper a little nervously. He can still hear the street traffic, even when he can't see his house anymore, but something about the atmosphere makes him feel like he's miles away from civilization, like maybe he's the only person left on earth.

That illusion is pretty quickly shattered when he turns round and sees someone crouched there, bent over a little stream of water, hands cupped like they're drinking from it. It's a boy, Harry realizes. A grown up, actually. At least, he thinks so. Most of the grown ups Harry knows don't dress like that, in bright colors and stripes, with their trousers rolled up at the bottoms. And most of them wear shoes. Harry knows because they're always wanting _him_ to wear shoes, his mum especially.

Harry isn't stupid. He knows about stranger danger and all that. But he's still feeling adventurous and a little spiteful and more than a little curious so, stepping out from behind the big oak he's been hiding behind and crunching on fallen leaves in the process, he asks, “What're you doin'?”

The boy freezes, startled, then ever so slowly turns to look at Harry.

“Well?” Harry prompts, still fiddling with his jumper.

The boy looks all around, like he's trying to figure out who Harry's talking to even though as far as Harry knows they're alone. Harry just keeps staring at him. Finally the boy looks at him again, points a finger at himself and asks, “Me?”

Harry frowns. “Yeah.”

“You can see me?”

Harry's frown deepens. “ _Duh._ ”

The boy gets offended at that. “Not everyone can, you know,” he says, like he's proud of it. When Harry makes a dubious face he adds, defensively, “I'm not crazy! It's true!”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asks, still skeptical. “Why not, then?”

“Because I'm magic,” the boy says simply.

Harry is six. He's six and he still believes in Santa and the tooth fairy and yeah, magic too, so he pretty quickly goes from disbelieving to tentatively thrilled. A smile twitches at his lips despite his efforts to stifle it. “Prove it,” he demands, fists clenching at his sides. He's going to be _so mad_ if the boy is lying to him. He _hates_ being lied to.

The boy pauses, considering for a moment. He practically glows in the sun but Harry can't be sure if that's because he's magic or if it's just a trick of the light.

Finally, the boy approaches him, tip-toeing over broken leaves. He kneels down so he's at eye-level with Harry. “You've got very curly hair,” he says, smiling softly as he tugs at one of said curls. “How would you like it if your hair was... _green?_ ”

Harry can't see the change, exactly, but his hair is long enough that bits of it hang into his eyes and he gasps as it goes from being it's usual brown to lime green in just a blink. He runs toward the stream, crouches over it to try and get a peek at his reflection in the water. It's distorted and rippled but, yeah, his hair is very definitely green.

“ _Cool_ ,” he breathes, eyes wide.

Behind him, the boy laughs, clearly pleased with himself. “Told you so!” he sing-songs. “Do you know what else I can do? I can _fly_.”

Harry whirls back around, not even bothering to hide his glee anymore. “Really?!”

“Yes, really.” The boy winks at him. “Would you like to see?”

Harry's nod could not _be_ anymore enthusiastic.

“I'll show you,” the boy says easily. “But only if you'll fly with me. So I'm not scared.” He points to the top of a nearby tree. “We'll go up there, alright? And you can look down and see the whole town. You're not scared of heights, are you?”

“No,” Harry says quickly. He is a little but his mum once told him that if he faced his fears they wouldn't be so scary anymore and he wants more than anything to fly. His friends will never believe it but he can't _wait_ to tell them.

“Come here, then.” The boy holds out his hand. Harry isn't sure stranger-danger applies to magical boys so he takes it, lets himself be pulled to his feet. “Hold on tight,” the boy says, gripping his hand demonstratively.

Harry has to close his eyes at first. He feels his feet lifting off the ground, his body being tugged along by his connection to the boy. When he finally finds the courage to open them they're a lot higher up than he expected and he lets out the breath he was holding in a surprised _whoosh_ of air. The boy grins at him, drawing them both in lazy circles through the air, going ever higher. Harry only saw it once but- but he thinks the boy looks a little like Peter Pan. Peter Pan could fly.

“Are you Peter Pan?” he asks aloud.

“No,” the boy laughs. “I'm Louis.”

“Louis,” Harry repeats. Louis does look old, maybe even grown-up old, but Harry doesn't think he's supposed to add a 'mister' to his name. Because he thinks Louis might be his friend, now, and you don't call your friends mister and missus.

Eventually they make it to the top of the tree Louis had pointed out. He sits them carefully on the highest branch, never once letting go of Harry's hand. When Harry looks down he sees most of the town laid out beneath him, like Louis had said he would. He sees his own house, sitting at the edge of the trees.

“What's your name, little one?” Louis asks.

“Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“You, too.” Harry pauses, pondering. “Are we friends now?” he asks. “ _Can_ we be friends?”

“Of course!” Louis chirps. “For today."

“Just today?”

It might be the sun setting or it might be the light going out of Louis' eyes, Harry isn't sure. “For today,” he repeats. “See, most people can't see me, but even the ones who can don't remember me.”

“I'll remember you,” Harry argues. How could he ever forget something like this?

“You'll forget me,” Louis says, sounding sad.

“I won't,” Harry insists. Louis doesn't press the issue any further, just gives him a tired smile. Maybe he's a grown-up after all.

Eventually they have to come down. Louis sets Harry gently on the leaves, tweaks his nose and says, “You're something special, Hazza. Maybe you've got some magic in you, too.”

Harry's eyes go wide at the thought. “Really?” he breathes.

“Really,” Louis assures him. “Now go on home, alright? Your mum is waiting.”

Harry nods, turns to rush off, but then pauses. He looks back at Louis. “We're friends,” he says, in a way that brooks no argument. “From now until always. Alright?”

Louis hides his smile behind his hand. “Alright,” he says.

Harry is only a little disappointed when he gets home and realizes the green has worn off from his hair, leaving him no way to prove, to his mum or his friends or even to himself, that Louis was real. He goes to bed determined that it shouldn't matter, that he'll remember anyways.

And he does. For a time.

-

Harry is sixteen the second time he meets Louis.

He remembers their first meeting like a dream, fuzzy and indistinct. Louis especially is just a vague impression of golden light and blue and a beaming smile. Harry has long since stopped believing in Santa and the tooth fairy and magic and, yes, even Louis. The memory of the magical boy is pushed somewhere to the back of his mind with the rest of his childhood fantasies.

Something about the boy in the bathroom calls it back to him, though. Not the specifics but the remnants that are left behind. He's got a wide smile and mischievous blue eyes that crinkle at the corners. When Harry looks at him he feels dazed. The breath leaves his body and, for a moment, all he can do is stare.

“Hi,” says the boy, stepping forward. He's dressed quite flamboyantly in red trousers, a navy jumper, and white braces. Harry figures him for a contestant trying to stand out to the judges.

Not that he needs the help from his outfit. Harry thinks anyone would remember that smile.

“Hello,” Harry replies, his voice shaky.

The boy picks up on it. “Nervous?” he asks, laughter dancing in his eyes.

It doesn't even occur to Harry to lie or be embarrassed. That same feeling he remembers from his childhood envelopes him. The feeling that he can trust this boy with anything. “Yes.” He adds, slightly defensively, “Aren't you?”

“Oh, I would be if I were auditioning. But I'm a shit singer.”

Harry furrows his brows. “Then what are you doing here?”

The boy doesn't reply right away. He steps closer still, making Harry crowd against the sink behind him, and looks carefully into his eyes. Whatever he finds there makes him laugh, soft and quiet. “I came because... I wanted to. I just really wanted to.”

Harry can feel the edge of the sink digging uncomfortably into his lower back but he doesn't dare move. He feels like he's in a trance. His nerves are fleeing him, slowly but surely. He's glad they're alone. He wants this moment to himself. It feels delicate, breakable, and he doesn't want anyone to ruin it.

“But why did you want to?” he asks, voice so low it verges on being a whisper.

The boy- Louis, it _has_ to be Louis- takes another step forward. Harry isn't trapped, exactly, but it sort of feels that way. He knows, though, that he could escape if he really wanted to. But he doesn't want to. “You don't remember me,” says Louis, sounding sad. “That's alright. I didn't expect you to.”

Harry wants to refute this, wants to tell Louis that he does remember him, however vaguely. But then Louis reaches up, dances his fingertips over the curve of Harry's cheekbone, and Harry finds he can't speak. “I came to see you,” Louis says, like it's a secret. “Just to see you.”

His eyes are the exact shade of blue Harry remembers. When he blinks, his long eyelashes fan out over his cheeks. He's so _pretty._ Like- like an elf, or a fairy. Harry remembers Louis being tall but he's not really. In fact they're the same height now. Harry has grown and aged but Louis hasn't. The thought _should_ scare him, maybe, but it doesn't.

Harry's mouth feels dry. He asks, “Why did you want to see me?”

Louis' answering smile is as gentle and genuine as Harry has yet to see it. “To wish you luck.”

His fingers trail down Harry's face, over the line of his jaw, down the side of his throat. He finally rests his palm over Harry's beating heart. His pulse is racing, Harry knows, but not from nerves now. Louis notices, he must, but he only smiles wider, revealing sharp white teeth.

“I've been keeping an eye on you,” Louis admits. “Checking in every now and then. Because I think you're special.”

“Because I can see you?"

“Maybe.”

Harry reaches up, places his own hand over Louis'. Louis' skin feels cold to the touch but... he's solid. Real. Harry still feels half out of his mind but a large part of him doesn't care. Maybe even likes it.

Louis doesn't pull away, although he looks startled at the touch. “Do you remember what I said to you, Harry?” he wonders. “That you might have a little magic in you, too? I still believe that. Not the kind of magic I have, but... I think you're meant to do great things, and live a wonderful life, and deserve it all.”

No one has ever said anything like that to Harry before, especially with _that look_ on their face, like they mean every word. For a moment he's speechless but eventually he manages a small, “Thank you,” that feels stupidly insufficient.

“It might not mean anything to you,” Louis goes on, ignoring him, a light blush rising to his cheeks. With his free hand he tugs at one of Harry's curls and- oh. Harry does remember that part, from before. “And I know you'll just forget me again after this but... I really wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know that I'll be here for you, even when you _can't_ see me.” He extracts his hand, takes a step back so Harry feels like he can breath again. Louis tilts his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Alright?” he asks. It sounds very much like asking permission.

“Alright,” Harry agrees.

“Good luck,” Louis says again. “You're a brilliant singer- you'll be put through for sure.”

Harry opens his mouth to say thank you again, to try and convey how much the sentiment means to him, but the bathroom door chooses that moment to creak open, admitting another boy Harry's never seen before.

“You alright, mate?” asks the boy, pausing as he lays eyes on Harry.

Harry realizes he's been clutching the sink for support and forces himself to let go. When he looks over Louis is gone, like he was never there to begin with.

“Yeah,” says Harry. “I'm fine.”

Later, he goes on stage and sings his heart out and the judges love him. They put him through.

In the midst of the congratulatory hugs from his mum and sister he thinks he catches a familiar flash of blue out of the corner of his eye but when he looks there's no one there.

He's not sure who he was hoping to see, anyway.

-

 

The third time Harry meets Louis he's eighteen and it's his birthday. 

He and the other lads are on tour, between destinations, and when Harry wakes up it's something like four in the morning and he intends to go right back to sleep. Then there's a clattering from the other room and that plan is shot to hell.

Harry, alert now, listens harder. He can hear the deep, even breaths of Liam sleeping in the bunk above him and the obnoxious rattle that is Niall's snore across from him. Which means it's probably Zayn in the other room rummaging about but Harry's curiosity gets the better of him anyway. He rolls out of bed, sleepily rubbing his eyes, and stumbles out of the bunk area.

It's not Zayn he finds blinking back at him.

“Louis?” he breathes.

The name comes so easily to him this time. And that perfect, beautiful face is one he knows, though he couldn't say how.

“Sorry!” Louis squeaks, abashed. Harry looks down and realizes what the clattering from earlier was. Louis' broken a mug. The pieces are scattered across the floor. For a second Harry's only concern is that Louis might cut his feet, but then Louis waves his hand and the pieces disappear. “I didn't mean to wake you,” he says, still apologetic. “I was just- I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, so I was waiting, but then I wanted tea so I-”

“It's fine,” Harry interrupts, cutting off his rambling. “Really, Lou, it's fine.”

Louis freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. “Don't tell me you actually _remember,_ Harold.”

Harry frowns, coming further into room. Louis lets him get close, close enough to touch, although Harry doesn't. “No,” he finally admits, whispering so he doesn't wake the others. “Not everything.”

Before when Harry's seen him Louis has always been very put together. Very wide-awake, alert, bright, maybe even on-edge. He remembers that much. Now, though, Louis looks sleepy and soft and rumpled, wearing pajamas slung low on his hips, a ratty old t-shirt and a beanie pulled over his hair. He looks, in short, like a _normal boy_. Strange, then, that Harry still feels completely enchanted by him. Like he can't look away, couldn't even if he wanted to. Like he wants to touch him, hold him, and never let go.

“I think it's getting easier though. Like I can almost...” He trails off, not sure how to phrase what he's thinking. “Is this normal?”

Louis raises his thin shoulders in an uncomfortable shrug. “Not sure. There's only ever been a handful that could see me and you, Harry Styles, are the first one who hasn't run away.” He pauses, contemplative. “What do you remember?”

“Just... feelings.” It's Harry's turn to shrug. “It's like, I look at you and... I don't know, I feel like I did when I was a kid. Like I can trust you. Like you're a friend.” He doesn't say it, but he remembers the way Louis had looked back then, when he'd said ' _you'll forget me'_. And he remembers the way Louis' fingers had felt against his cheek at the X-Factor auditions. In fact, the longer he stands here next to Louis, the more he remembers. “When I saw you your name just came to me.”

“When you saw me, hm?” A familiar grin spreads it's way across his face. “Allow me to test out a theory?” he asks.

Harry nods.

Louis steps closer and Harry has a flashback to the last time they saw each other. Instead of reaching up to touch his face, though, Louis grabs Harry's hand in his own and just... holds it there, watching his expression with a concentrated frown.

Harry understands then what Louis is getting at and the contact does help. Specifics start trickling back in. Harry remembers flying with Louis, sitting in the tree with Louis, feeling more than a little besotted as Louis cornered him in the loo. His heart does a funny little leap in his chest as he remembers what Louis said to him.

“Well?”

Harry breaks into a smile, sudden and giddy. “Louis,” he says instead of answering.

Evidently that's all the answer he needs. Louis laughs, covering it with his hand. “I can't believe- no one's ever-” He breaks off with a muffled cry of- well, Harry doesn't know. Excitement, he supposes. He doesn't have time to wonder because then Louis is throwing himself at Harry and Harry has no choice but to catch him, laughing along as he's nearly bowled over.

“Shhhh,” Louis admonishes, still grinning as he pulls back. “You'll wake your mates!”

Harry finds he very much doesn't want to do that. He doesn't want to break this cocoon of happiness that they've found themselves in and potentially make Louis disappear again. So he tries to quiet down as he pulls Louis over to the couch. If he doesn't let go of Louis' hand even once they're sitting, well, Louis doesn't seem to mind.

“You can stay for a while, can't you?” he asks, even though he's half-afraid the answer will be no.

Louis' smile softens as he replies, “Yeah, for a while. Long enough to give you your present.”

“Present?”

“It's not much but...” He squeezes Harry's hand, looking a little bashful. “To be honest I've got no idea what's going on in your head, what you think about me, or about what I can do. But you haven't run away yet and, I don't know, it's just... _really_ important to me that you don't forget about me. I can't say why. Everyone else I could accept, but you...” He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh, shakes his head at himself. “I must sound crazy. You've only seen me twice. But even when you were a kid I thought, he's going to grow up to be brilliant, I want to know him. I want him to know _me_.”

He licks his lips, looks up at Harry from under long, dark eyelashes. “And then, at the auditions, I was so sure you'd have no idea who I was, that you'd freak out or whatever. But you didn't. And it felt like we just... clicked.”

The last part sounds more like a question than anything.

Harry looks at the boy next to him, looks at his pretty blue eyes and high cheekbones and small, brave smile. He thinks about their first meeting, and their second, and he says, voice low, “Yeah, we did.”

“Anyway,” Louis continues around a relieved breath. “I got you something to remember me by. Er, hopefully.”

Harry makes a small, distressed noise when Louis takes his hand back but thankfully Louis doesn't seem to notice.

“Right,” he says. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Harry does as he's told. When he opens his eyes again there's a ring sitting in his palm. It's just a simple, thin black band. Louis is quick to say, “You don't have to wear it or anything, I just wanted you to have something from me. Something material. Just so you never had to wonder-”

Harry shuts him up by slipping the band around his finger. “I love it,” he says. “Maybe it'll help me remember, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a second they just sit there grinning at each other like dopes. Harry wants to kiss him.

The urge doesn't take him by surprise at all but how badly he wants it does. Something tells him he shouldn't- that he shouldn't want it at all. But he knows Louis won't push him away. Hopes he won't, anyway. So he leans forward and-

“Harry?”

Harry jumps like he's been shocked, twisting around to find Liam standing in the doorway, looking at him with an expression of equal parts concern and tentative amusement.

“Alright?” he asks when Harry doesn't say anything. “Who were you talking to, mate?”

Harry expects Louis to be gone when he turns round again but he's still sitting there, watching Harry closely.

“Er, no one,” he says uneasily. Guilt, he thinks. That's what's turning his stomach over now. Because that's a lie and it feels wrong to call Louis 'no one'.

Liam's gaze sweeps the room, clearly disbelieving, but his eyes pass right over where Louis is sitting. Harry's stomach twists again. It's one thing to know Louis is invisible to most people and quite another to see it in action.

“Why don't you come back to bed?” Liam urges when he finds the room is indeed empty. “Big day tomorrow.”

Louis saves Harry the trouble of finding an excuse. He leans up quickly to plant a light kiss on Harry's cheek and whispers, “Goodnight, Harry. And happy birthday.” Then the weight of his hand disappears from Harry's and Harry knows without looking he's gone.

“Sure,” he says to Liam after what was probably too long a pause.

He falls asleep staring at the ring, trying to think of some excuse to give the guys when they ask him about it.

-

 

Harry is nineteen when Louis finds him again.

He's spent an embarrassingly large portion of the last year or so staring at the ring and trying to remember why it's important to him. All he really knows is that it _is_ important. One time he misplaced it and the others haven't let him live down the rampage he went on since. When they ask him about it he tells them the truth- he doesn't know where he got it or why, just that he's supposed to keep it.

They probably think he's a bit mental. Harry's inclined to agree with them.

It's a hot summers night when Louis turns up, and one of their rare off days. Niall had somehow convinced Harry to go clubbing with him, despite his protests. He's proceeded to spend the evening drinking quietly in a corner and awkwardly avoiding people while Niall flits about from person to person, dancing or just chatting with them all like they're old friends.

The whole avoiding people thing works pretty brilliantly until one brave soul ignores his 'fuck off' vibes completely and slips into the booth with him.

“Listen, mate,” Harry starts, dredging up one of his pre-made excuses for why the guy just can't sit there right now, or why Harry just doesn't feel like company, etc., when he looks over and the rest of his sentence drops right out of his brain.

His fingers go straight to the ring, toying with it without realizing. “Er, Louis?” he asks hesitantly. The answering smile he receives is blinding.

“'Atta boy, Hazza! We're making progress!”

“We are?” he asks, baffled. “Sorry, I just- you look really familiar but I-”

Louis ignores him. He reaches out for Harry's hand, stilling his fingers. “You kept it,” he says, all warm and happy. “I can't believe you actually... Jesus, you're something else, you know that?”

Harry lets Louis hold his hand. The crowd and the noise and the lights all disappear as his memories come back in a flood, leaving him reeling. When he's finally able to focus again, there's Louis, smiling fondly at him. Harry can't believe he's special enough to get to witness that smile, or see the way Louis' eyes light up as Harry says, “Told you I loved it, didn't I? Meant every word.”

Louis squawks and practically tackles him, throwing his arms around Harry's neck, losing whatever composure he had before. “You remember!” he shrieks, and then pulls back abruptly to look Harry in the eye. “You do remember, right? You're not just taking the piss?”

“No, of course not!” Harry's arms seem to have come up of their own accord to circle Louis, to hold him in place. He still feels... cold, sort of. Not uncomfortably so but the usual heat that Harry would feel bleeding through anyone else's clothes is absent. “I remember, Lou.”

Louis stares quietly at him for a minute, fingers toying absently with the curls at the nape of Harry's neck. “I can't stay long tonight,” he says in a voice only just loud enough to be heard over the din around them. “But I wanted to come say hi.”

Harry maybe starts to panic at the thought of Louis leaving him so soon. He tries not to show it. “Why don't we go somewhere we can talk?”

“Away from prying eyes, you mean?” Louis casts a meaningful glance over his shoulder, where the people passing their table are giving them strange looks. Well, giving _Harry_ strange looks, as he's the one who appears to be talking to himself. “I suppose I can manage that. Don't let go, Harold.”

Harry doesn't have time to ask what he means. He just blinks and that's that- they're in Harry's flat all of a sudden, now perched on the couch instead of in a booth. Louis is still half in his lap, arms round his neck. It takes a second for Harry's eyes to adjust to the lack of light but when they do he's greeted with shining blue eyes and Louis lit only in moonlight. He thinks he should probably flip the light on but the sight is so gorgeous he dismisses the idea. Louis looks even more like a dream than usual. Ethereal, almost. Supernatural.

It says a lot that it doesn't even occur to Harry to be embarrassed at the state of his flat. It's only been a few days since the housekeeper was last in but the place is a wreck already, with things strewn everywhere.

Thankfully Louis doesn't seem bothered, anyway.

“What did you want to talk about?” Louis asks, shifting so he's more comfortable, showing absolutely no inclination to drift too far.

“You,” Harry replies, seizing the opportunity.

Louis sighs. “Got questions, have you?”

“Yeah.” Harry circles his arms around Louis again. “Like, for example, are there any others like you?”

“A few,” Louis replies. He seems wary of answering but he doesn't pull away. “It's hard to say exactly how many.”

“Alright. And... how come you look the same now as you did when I was little? You don't age, right?”

“Right. I'm immortal.” He says it like he's afraid it's going to weird Harry out. Harry smiles at him to let him know that's not the case. He can handle this whole magic thing. He _can_. He won't be like those other wretched people who ran away when Louis was honest with them, whoever they were.

“So how old are you, exactly?”

This question brings a twinkle back into Louis' eyes. “Too old for you,” he says with a smirk.

“Age is just a number,” Harry retorts. He winks for good measure, which sends Louis into a giggle fit.

“Are you into older men? I'm scandalized, Harold.”

 _I'm mostly just into you_ , Harry thinks, and then has to huff a laugh at his own sappiness. The thing is, though, it's true. It's devastatingly true. He knows Louis is going to disappear again, off to wherever it is he goes when he isn't with Harry, and that knowledge is awful. It makes him want to cling. Harry doesn't cling. He doesn't get desperate. But the idea of Louis leaving him again is apparently enough to do the job.

He shouldn't say it, he knows that, but he can't help himself. He watches his own hand, toying with the edge of Louis' jumper, as he says, “Can I ask one more?”

“You just did,” Louis teases, then he tugs affectionately at one of Harry's curls and adds, “But go on.”

Harry's voice drops even lower, until he's practically whispering. “Why can't you stay?”

For a time Louis is silent. When Harry peeks up at him he's got a look on his face like he knew Harry was going to ask this at some point and wishes he hadn't. But Harry doesn't take it back. He waits patiently on an answer.

For the first time Louis pulls away from him. Not too far. He carefully removes Harry's arms from around him and settles next to him on the couch, so they're pressed against each other from shoulder to knee.

“Harry,” he says gently. “What I'm doing here now, just talking to you, it's... frowned upon.”

Silence stretches on again. Harry goes on waiting.

“I was human once, did you know?” Louis finally says. “I don't really remember it. It was ages ago. All I remember is being scared of getting older, of dying... and then I _did_ die, but not really. For some reason I was picked to become... whatever it is I am now. They gave me my magic and they made me immortal and they gave me a job to do. And they made it very clear that they could take it all away from me again if I fucked it up.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. “One of the rules is _don't get too attached to the mortals_. And another rule is, _don't let them get too attached to you._ I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have gone to see you again at your auditions and I shouldn't have popped round to say happy birthday, either. I definitely shouldn't be here now. Do you know why I am?”

Harry shakes his head.

Louis laughs but it's just this side of bitter. “Me either. Yet here I am. And I'm completely fucking _smitten_. With a _human_. Clear violation of the rules, right there.”

“Well, you've not been struck by lightening or anything yet, so maybe you're okay.” Harry swallows. His throat feels tight. He feels concerned and scared and elated all at once. Louis is looking at him from under his lashes with those brilliant blue eyes and he's just said he's _smitten_. With _Harry_.

“Yeah, maybe. As long as I don't visit too often I just keep hoping they won't notice.”

“Who's this 'they', anyway?”

“Dunno. I've never seen them or anything. They're just voices- don't look at me like that, I'm not _crazy_.”

Deja-vu again. Harry grins. “You said that the first time we met. Quite frankly, I'm not sure I believe you.”

Louis rolls his eyes but he laughs in earnest now. “Tosser!” he proclaims, and hits Harry upside the head with a nearby throw pillow. “If I'm a nutter then what's that say about you?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Guess that means I've got a thing for older blokes with mental issues, doesn't it?”

Louis laughs again and settles with one leg draped over both of Harry's. With a sigh, he rests his head on Harry's shoulder. “I'll have to go soon,” he says into the quiet.

“Don't,” Harry says back. He knows it's futile but he says it anyway.

Louis takes his hand again, runs his thumb over Harry's knuckles. “It's not easy, Harry. Leaving. Just... know that, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Want me to put you back where I found you?”

Harry thinks about the club, about being surrounded by all those people that aren't Louis, and decides he doesn't want to deal with it right now. “No. Just leave me here.”

“'Kay.”

Louis doesn't actually leave for several more minutes. When he goes, Harry just curls into a ball on the couch and tries not to look too sad in case Louis is still watching him.

-

 

The fifth time they meet starts off rather poorly.

Harry doesn't pick up often. Not just because being famous complicates things, which it definitely does, but also because... well, he's just not interested in most people.

Every now and then, though, he'll see someone he likes. Like tonight, for example. There was a girl at the pub with light brown hair cut into a short bob and a wicked smile. She approached him, offered him a drink, had no clue who he really was- and he was charmed.

Of course Louis turns up at the exact worst moment.

Harry has her pinned against the wall of his hotel room, his mouth on hers, his hands on her bum, and she's moaning against his lips, can't seem to help herself and it's all pretty amazing until-

“Oh.”

Harry lets go of the girl so fast she nearly falls. He turns, says, “What the _fuck_?” because he didn't even hear the door open so how the hell did anyone get in, but then his eyes land on Louis, standing frozen in the middle of the room, looking like he doesn't know what to do with his hands or where to look, so he winds up staring just slightly to the left of Harry's face as Harry says, “Er, who... Do I know you? How'd you get in?”

“ _Harry_ ,” says the girl- Sara- from behind him. “What the hell are you doing? There's no one there, you dolt.” She wraps her arms around his waist and stands on her tip-toes to kiss his neck. It's rude, maybe even mean, but Harry pushes her away.

“Yes there is. He's right there!” He gestures wildly at Louis, who's... smirking now, actually.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all.

Sara frowns. “Well, clearly you've got... issues. Should've mentioned that before we caught a cab, love.” She starts to gather her coat and shoes from the floor. “Just give me a ring when you get yourself sorted, yeah?”

She winks at him on her way out.

“Harold, really,” Louis says once the door is closed. His nose is wrinkled in disgust. It's weirdly adorable. “You could do better.”

The nickname triggers the memories this time. Harry gasps as it all comes back to him. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to that.

“Lou,” he says. Then, “Louis.”

Louis tilts a brow at him. He looks... not pissed, exactly, but at least somewhat miffed and more than a little weary. He's dressed down this time, in a loose fitting tank top and jeans that've seen better days. His hair looks soft and messy and Harry wants to kiss him, more than he's ever wanted to kiss anyone else- Sara included.

It should probably be a bit worrisome, that.

Louis is being stubborn and refuses to break the silence, so Harry does the honors. “It's only been a month.”

“Didn't take you long, did it? To forget about me?”

Harry's knee-jerk reaction is to snap right back at him, to say, _fuck you, don't you dare blame me_ , but he stops himself just in time. Instead he says, rather more gently, “Lou, you know I can't help it.” He takes a chance, moves a step closer. “I missed you.”

“No, you didn't,” Louis says, but the irritation starts to melt away from him, leaving him just looking tired. And gorgeous despite. “You can't miss me. 'S impossible.”

Harry laughs. He steps even further into Louis' space. Louis uncrosses his arms, allows himself to be hugged. “Mate, in the last three years I've done nothing _but_ accomplish the impossible. Don't doubt me.”

“See, that's where you're wrong.” The words are muffled into Harry's shoulder. “You've been accomplishing the impossible your whole bloody life.”

What Harry wants to say is on the tip of his tongue but he can't think how to phrase it. What comes out is a jumbled mess of, “Louis, that girl- Sara- she was... I didn't- I mean, if things were different I wouldn't have-”

Louis steps back to look up at him seriously. “Harry,” he begins. “Don't apologize. You've got nothing to apologize for. You can shag whoever you want, yeah?”

That's not, strictly speaking, true. Harry doesn't point it out. “The thing is, though, I think I might-”

“Don't! Don't even go there, Haz. You can't. _We_ can't. It's-”

Harry really doesn't care to hear what it is. He doesn't care at all. So he shuts Louis up.

He has to tilt Louis' chin up with his fingers. He doesn't know when it happened but somehow he's gotten a good bit taller than Louis now. It doesn't seem to matter. When Harry kisses him it's perfect. Chaste, but perfect. And when he pulls back Louis looks surprised but not unhappy. In fact, he even starts to smile a bit, and he's still smiling when he goes up on his tiptoes to return the favor.

“Christ, we really shouldn't,” he says when he pulls away, burying his face in Harry's neck.

“Louis,” Harry says. “Will you stay tonight? Just- just until I fall asleep. Please?”

Louis plants a butterfly-light kiss against Harry's throat. “Yeah. Fuck the rules, right?”

Harry gets the light and then they stumble to the bed in the darkness, collapsing in a laughing heap upon it. Harry feels drunk. He _is_ a little drunk from the beers at the pub. He figures he wouldn't have worked up the guts to kiss Louis otherwise, or to kiss him again now. This one is sloppy. They're both still grinning like idiots. But it's still better than any kiss Harry can ever remember having with anyone else. Because this one is with _Louis_.

Eventually they settle down, Louis with his head laying on Harry's chest and their legs all tangled up on top of the covers. They talk for what feels like ages. Harry tries not to fall asleep, thinks stupidly that if he never falls asleep then Louis won't ever leave, but eventually Louis looks up at him, fond written across his face, and says, “Time to rest, young Harold. Your mates will never forgive me if you turn up exhausted at rehearsal tomorrow.”

Harry doesn't feel tired. He tries to say so but Louis shakes his head, leans up to give him one more parting kiss. “Good night,” he whispers, and just like that Harry is asleep.

-

 

Zayn thinks Harry is crazy.

Well, Harry can't blame him.

“So, what you're saying,” Zayn starts, exhaling the smoke from his lungs. “Is that you've got an imaginary boyfriend and _that's_ why you turned down that perfectly shaggable bird yesterday. Right, mate, I think it's time to commit you.”

Harry groans. “That's _not_ what I'm saying! Well, not exactly, anyway, it's- weird. I dunno how to explain.”

He isn't even sure why he decided to tell Zayn in the first place, except that Harry needed air so he followed Zayn outside for his smoke break, and then the two of them were sitting there in comfortable silence and Zayn was just looking at him like he knew something was wrong and he was worried and Zayn's always been a good listener, is the thing, and Harry hates to worry his mates.

So he spilled his guts. As best he could, anyway. Truth be told he's not sure he understands it himself. It's just that, sometimes, he gets these flashes of a boy- of Louis- of his smile or his eyes or his laugh. Sometimes they feel like dreams but other times they feel like memories. And Harry knows, somehow, that he's so fucking gone for this guy, even if the details are hazy at best.

“He's _real_ ,” Harry insists when Zayn doesn't say anything. “I know he is.”

“Alright,” Zayn concedes. He still looks worried.

“Keep this between us?” Harry asks, watching as Zayn stubs out his cigarette on the pavement. Zayn shrugs, nods.

“But maybe you should talk to Liam, yeah?”

Zayn tends to assume Liam has all the answers. Whenever a problem pops up Zayn's suggestion is always _talk to Liam_. To be fair it's hardly ever a _bad_ suggestion. Harry rather doubts Liam will have anything helpful to say about this particular situation, though. Instead of arguing Harry just nods. “Yeah.”

Zayn wanders back inside without him. Pretty soon security will poke their heads out to make sure Harry's still alive and to call him back in for sound check or some such. For now, though, Harry's happy to sit and stare at the clouds and think.

“'S a nice day, innit?”

Harry doesn't jump. He knows that voice.

He turns toward it with a smile but before he can even get a greeting out Louis is kissing him.

Harry melts into him, sighing with relief as the hazy memories snap into clarity. Louis pulls away far too soon but he keeps his arms around Harry's neck, one hand toying with the curls there in a move that's familiar. “Miss me?” he asks, half-joking, so Harry kisses him again to wipe that self-deprecating look off his face.

“I did,” he swears. “I really did, Lou.”

Louis still looks doubtful but he doesn't press the issue.

Watching him, Harry feels the overwhelming urge to hug him and never let go again. It's not the first time the urge has come over him, he knows.

Louis ducks his head as he admits, “I guess it was hard to stay away. Gets harder every time, actually.”

“So don't.”

Louis shakes his head, grinning. “You don't even know what you're asking for, mate. Who in their right mind would want _me_ around all the time? I'm loud, messy, I _never_ do the washing up-”

His tone is joking but Harry doesn't feel like having a laugh at the moment. “Louis, look me in the eye and tell me you've felt like this before. Tell me you've met someone you had this instant connection with. Tell me we're not soul mates.”

“Soul mates?” All pretense of messing about is lost as Louis sobers up. They're still in each others space, Harry's hands on Louis' hips, and neither of them moves away. “You think we're bloody _soul mates_?”

“You _don't_?”

“We can't be. That's- it's too cruel.”

“Why?”

“Because we _can't be together_. Not really. You know that.”

Harry tightens his grip. Maybe his thumbs, resting under Louis' shirt just above the waistband of his trousers, will leave bruises. A part of him hopes so. “That's not true. It'll just be like- like a long distance relationship.” He drops his head to rest on Louis' bony shoulder, thankful that the magical boy has yet to pull away. It's easier to say this when he's not looking him in the eye. Easier to be brave that way. “I don't care if I can only see you every now and then- I don't care if I only get to see you once a year for the rest of my entire life. It'd still be better than trying to be happy with someone else. There is no one else for me, Louis. I've tried but you're it.”

Louis takes a deep, shaky breath. His arms come up to wind around Harry in a tight hug. After a minute he replies, “I didn't exactly come prepared to hear any declarations of love today.”

“Or to give any?” Harry guesses.

Louis is silent for a long, excruciating moment. And then, “You _really_ want to be with me? You're sure?”

Harry turns his face and kisses Louis' neck. “I'm sure.”

“What happens if you forget me again?”

“I won't. Every time it gets easier, doesn't it? Next time I probably won't even need the reminder.”

They both know that's a bit optimistic.

“Harry,” Louis sighs, finally drawing away and holding Harry at arms length. He still glows in the light of the setting sun. Harry can't imagine anyone so beautiful. “I just... I need to think, alright?”

It's not the answer Harry was hoping for but it isn't a no. “I do love you,” he says in lieu of answering. “You wouldn't let me say it before so I'm saying it now. I'm in love with you.”

Louis' smile is small and sad. When Harry blinks and Louis is gone, Harry has to wonder if that wasn't a _no_ after all.

-

 

A day goes by, then two, then three, then four, and Harry still remembers his time with Louis with perfect clarity. And the more time that passes without a trace of Louis the more he feels the sting of rejection.

 _How could he not feel the same way,_ he wonders. And, _what did I do wrong?_

What makes it even worse is that he can't go to the other boys about it. Not without being either thoroughly mocked or thought of as crazy. He tries not to let it show, not to mope around or cry when all he really wants to do is- well, mope around and have a good cry. Since he can't tell the lads what's really going on he doesn't want to worry them.

They must pick up on some of it, though, because they start practically drowning him in affection. They never ask directly what's wrong, thank God, so Harry just lets himself bask in the attention. Lets it distract him from thoughts of Louis.

The thing is, every day Harry wakes up and his first instinct is to prod at his memories of Louis- just to see if they're still there. And for once, they are. Even after days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, the memories don't go away. It just makes it all that much harder. Now everything reminds him of Louis and he keeps looking for traces of the magical boy everywhere- even once thinks he sees him in the crowd at a show, only to blink and realize that's absurd.

Eventually their tour ends. They're allowed to go home, to London. It's not as big a relief as it once might've been. As soon as Harry is separated from the other boys the disappointment, the grief, that he's been holding at bay for their benefit comes rushing to the surface. For the first three days of their break he does nothing but sleep, watch mindless TV, and occasionally venture into the kitchen for something to eat. Everything else feels like too much effort. He even ignores his phone.

The big, empty flat doesn't help him feel better. It's depressing, being there alone. So, on the fourth day when he wakes to sunshine, even though the idea is less than appealing he determines to get out of the house for a little while, to at least try and _attempt_ to feel normal. He throws on a coat and a beanie for a jaunt to the coffee shop down the road, sending up a silent prayer that he isn't recognized and mobbed.

He doesn't quite make it to the coffee shop.

On his way he starts fiddling with his phone, scrolling through his unread messages and his missed calls. It's as he's typing a quick text to the boys that he rounds the corners and runs right into someone.

Harry's reflexes kick in and he reaches out to steady the boy with a hand on his arm. “Oops,” he says, at the same time the boy laughs and says, a bit breathless, “Hi.”

Harry jerks his head up and he swears his heart _literally_ skips a beat as his eyes land on a familiar face. He'd all but given up on Louis and now, here he is, and Harry feels all that pain rushing back but- but there's a little hope there, too. Faint but recognizable.

Something must show on his face because the next thing he knows Louis is all up in his space, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. “Oh, don't look like that, Harold. You'll get wrinkles.”

Harry tries to smooth out his frown. “Louis, I- what are you doing here? I thought...” He trails off, at a loss.

Louis' smile is unwavering. “I came to be with you,” he says simply. “All proper like. If you'll still have me, I mean.”

Harry's brain takes a second to process the words and then he's drawing Louis into a hug and clinging for dear life. “Yes,” he breathes, stunned. “Yeah, of course. But- how?” He can't help the giddy laugh that escapes him. “I mean, you said we _couldn't_.”

Louis draws away just far enough to meet Harry's eyes. “I'm sorry I left you wondering for so long, Harry. I really am. But I had to make absolutely sure this is what we both wanted because there's no going back. What's done is done.” He takes an unsteady breath and suddenly turns sheepish, ducking his head. “I'm... Well, I'm human now.”

It's clicks then that there's something different about Louis. He was _warm_ in Harry's arms. And not just that, he even looks a bit older. Not drastically, and he's still as gorgeous and bright as ever, but his face has thinned out some, his hair's gotten longer, and there's a fair amount of scruff dusting his cheeks. And as the fact that Louis was willing to give up his magic, his _immortality_ , for him sets in, all Harry can think to say is, “I love you.”

“And I,” Louis begins, eyes crinkling as he grins, “love _you,_ Harry Styles. More than anything.”

Harry feels a weight he didn't even know he was carrying leave him and when they kiss this time it feels a lot like coming home. There are still plenty of questions that need answering and things that need to be talked about but it can wait, Harry realizes, because now they've got every minute of the rest of their lives together. And Harry intends to cherish them all.

(When the pap pictures are released the next day of he and Louis holding hands on the walk back to his flat and management calls him in to flap their hands at him and berate him for being so foolish, Harry only smiles and revels in the knowledge that everyone can actually _see_ that Louis is his now.)  

**Author's Note:**

> <3 <3 <3  
> Thanks for reading! Here's my (shiny new) [Tumblr](http://www.hypovauntie.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


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